


Eternal, ever since Wednesday

by LiveOakWithMoss



Series: Punching out my dancelines [16]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: ALL THE FLUFF, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fingon's puns are so bad he should be taken out back and shot, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-06
Updated: 2014-09-06
Packaged: 2018-02-16 05:23:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2257395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiveOakWithMoss/pseuds/LiveOakWithMoss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fingon and Maedhros, a snowy day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Eternal, ever since Wednesday

**Author's Note:**

> 0\. Title from the eternal snows of Dylan Thomas’ insanely beautiful A Child’s Christmas in Wales  
> 1\. Silje was annoyed because Fingon’s hair was being frustrating, and so I suggested she cover it up with a [nice fluffy hat](http://www.surf-life.co.uk/productImages/serious-beanies-serious-marshall-bobble-hat-dark-blue-winter-white_46673.jpg), and then…this happened. Unapologetic fluff.  
> 2\. This takes place the winter before the events of DWMP.

_Whump_. 

Maedhros’ head jerked forward as the snowball smacked into the back of his head, sending a shower of ice and slush down the back of his neck. 

“Ouch!” He spun around and saw Fingon grinning at him, packing another snowball between mittened hands. “What was that for?” 

“You were looking too serious,” said Fingon, tossing the snowball from hand to hand. “A perennial problem for you, as it happens. If only snowballs were a year-round thing; I think they make good conditioning tools.” 

Maedhros scowled and scooped snow out of his collar. “How very mature of you.” 

“You’re still looking serious,” said Fingon, threateningly. “I warn you…” 

“And I warn you,” said Maedhros, pulling his scarf tighter around his neck, “that I’m perfectly capable of retaliation. I grew up with _six_ brothers, mark you, and I know all about fighting dirty. _Oof_.” 

The second snowball caught him in the ear, and Fingon laughed outright. “Less talking, more action then, boy.” 

“Okay,” said Maedhros, shaking his head and sending snow flying from his hair. “That’s _it_.” He bent to scoop up a handful of snow and began packing it into a ball. “I pitched like five baseball games in high school, so you’d better – ” He straightened up and frowned. Fingon had vanished. 

“Finno?” 

“Does the cold make you particularly slow?” A voice whispered at his ear, and he whipped around just in time to see Fingon give him a dazzling smile and shove a handful of snow down the front of his jacket before disappearing back behind the tree that had been concealing him. 

“ _Damn it_ – ” Maedhros swore and pulled his jacket away from his body, shuddering as the cold ice slid against his skin. 

From behind the tree a laugh rang out, and Maedhros took off after it. 

Fingon was already racing down the hill, one hand planted on his head to keep his hat on, his scarf flying out behind him. Maedhros’ long legs quickly brought him level with Fingon, and he reached out and seized his shoulder, spinning Fingon around midstride. 

“Ohshit.” Fingon’s arms wind-milled for a second before he lost his balance and toppled to the snowy ground. Maedhros followed swiftly, kneeling over Fingon before he could get up, ignoring how the snow quickly soaked through the knees of his jeans. 

Fingon grinned hopefully up at him. His cheeks were flushed from cold and laughter, and beneath his blue and white ski cap, his black hair was wild and tousled. “Hey, Mae. You look pretty in the snow…” 

“None of that,” growled Maedhros, bending low. “You are in _trouble_.” 

Fingon bit his lip, trying to hold back a laugh as he reached up to brush snowflakes from Maedhros’ hair. “Oh yeah? Tell me more.” 

“I owe you two snowballs and a whole heap of snow down your shirt,” said Maedhros, trying to hang onto his frown. “Plus interest.” 

“Any way for me to negotiate the terms?” 

Maedhros gazed down at him considering. The snow was falling harder, and he tried not to notice how the snowflakes stuck to Fingon’s long, dark lashes. _Hopelessly trite,_ his mind told him, in a voice that sounded a lot like Maglor’s. 

“What kind of terms are you offering?”

“Um.” Fingon squinted into the falling snow, thinking. “…have you ever gotten a handjob from someone wearing mittens?” 

“ _Augh_.” Maedhros groaned and sat back on his heels. “Finno.” 

“What, not sexy?” Fingon grinned and pushed himself up on his elbows. “I’m certainly not going to take my mitten _off_ , that’s how you get frostbite…” 

“Shut up,” said Maedhros and tugged him upright. Fingon wrapped his arms around Maedhros’ waist, Maedhros astride his lap now. “You really shouldn’t be allowed to talk.” 

“How are you going to make me be quiet?” whispered Fingon, his eyes shining as he tilted his face up to Maedhros’. 

“Oh, the usual way, I suppose...” Maedhros wrapped a hand around the back of Fingon’s head and pulled him close. Their lips met, and Maedhros could taste Fingon’s smile. 

“Usually you get worried someone will see us,” Fingon murmured, between kisses. “Has the cold addled your brain enough that you’ll be fun for once?” 

“No one’s around,” Maedhros whispered back, and kissed him again. 

“Does this mean I’m off the hook?” 

“Not even close.” As Maedhros pressed another kiss to Fingon’s lips, he reached behind him to retrieve the hat that had slipped from Fingon’s hair. Scooping a handful of snow into it, he tugged it down over Fingon’s curls. 

“Argh! No fair!” 

Maedhros laughed, leaning back as Fingon shook his head wildly, sending snow flying and the hat back into the snow. 

“That was taking unfair advantage!”

“That was one,” said Maedhros mildly. “Two to go.” 

“Hitting below the belt, man.” 

“Not yet.” 

“Right, you haven’t told me if you’re taking me up on my offer yet.” Fingon reached back and shook snow out of his hat, pulling it down over his wet curls as he eyed Maedhros mischievously. “Are you still saying no to the – ” 

Maedhros laid a gloved hand over his mouth. “I don’t want to hear the words ‘mitten’ and ‘handjob’ in the same sentence.” 

“That’s what you’re objecting to?” Fingon asked, muffled by Maedhros’ hand, and shook himself free. “I can rebrand. How about mittenjob? No, shit, I’ve got it – _snow_ job.” 

“Oh my _god_.” Maedhros shoved Fingon, who was laughing helplessly, back down into the snow. “I can’t believe you – ” 

“I’m a fucking genius, Maitimo, admit it.” Fingon spluttered as Maedhros pushed a handful of snow down his collar. “ACK.” 

“Two out of three,” said Maedhros, and let out a yelp as Fingon seized him around the waist and tumbled him down into the snow. 

They wrestled together as the snow fell around them, and beneath them soaked through their clothes, until finally Maedhros gasped, “Fine, enough already, I _yield._ ” 

Fingon sat up, breath coming hard, and raised his arms triumphantly over his head. “Victory! Never underestimate the power of my – oh fuck, you traitor – ” 

“Ha,” said Maedhros, as Fingon clawed snow out of his eyes. “You’re far too trusting.” 

Fingon flopped back in the snow, stretching out his arms and legs like he was going to make a snow angel. “Sneaky Fëanorion bastard.” 

“I’ll forget about the interest part if you buy me a hot drink,” said Maedhros, getting to his feet and brushing snow from his clothes. “Damn, I’m soaked through.” 

“Ha,” echoed Fingon, still sprawled in the snow. “That’s what you get. Oh my god, I think I have frostbite of the ass.” 

Maedhros held out a hand and hauled Fingon to his feet. “If we go by Cuiviénen, Makalaurë can give us half-price coffees.” 

Fingon shivered and wrapped his arms around himself. “I want hot chocolate.” 

“That too.” Maedhros laid an arm around Fingon’s shoulders and tugged him close. 

Fingon sniffed dolefully. “…I think I’ve lost my hat.” 

Maedhros narrowed his eyes at him. “Do you think by looking pathetic you can make me forget you were the one who started this?” 

Fingon blinked innocently, and then grinned. “Yeah, that was the idea.” 

Maedhros bent and pulled Fingon’s hat from a snowdrift. “Here’s your hat. Ass still frost-bitten?” 

“Almost certainly.” Fingon tucked himself back under Maedhros’ arm and pressed his cold nose to Maedhros’ neck. “But you know what I think could revive me? A – ” 

Maedhros raised a warning hand, even as they turned onto the sidewalk. “I can _feel_ that you’re going to say ‘snowjob’, and I’m going to stop you right there. That word is _banned_.” 

“It’s hilarious,” said Fingon, chuckling to himself. “I’m going to tell Makalaurë about it. I think he’ll approve.” 

“God save us,” muttered Maedhros. “And anyway, you’d likely have better luck with Tyelko.” 

“Hell no,” said Fingon. “He’d probably just take it as a proposition.” 

“True.” Maedhros sighed as they walked down the snow-silent streets, the cars sliding by with dull _whoosh_ es. He shivered convulsively. “If we get pneumonia from the chill, it will be your fault.” 

“Worth it,” said Fingon, as they pushed through the door to the Cuiviénen coffee shop, the bell chiming merrily. “I got what I wanted.” 

“Soaking wet and owing me a coffee?” 

“No,” said Fingon, and he smiled so brightly that the warmth that rushed through Maedhros had nothing to do with the heat of the café. “I got you to stop thinking for almost thirty minutes.” And he stretched up on his toes to press a cold-nosed kiss to Maedhros’ lips.

**Author's Note:**

> 3\. Sorry I made Cuivienen a coffee shop. Is that irreverent? I really just needed a name.


End file.
